Opstinatus
by Dark Lord Duckie
Summary: What went on in the Marauders' heads? What did they feel and think during their isolated years? How did the betrayal and grief affect each of them in turn? An in-depth look into the psyche's of the Marauders... Canon. No pairing. R&R.
1. Catenis est Extritio et Sperare

A/N: Disclaimer - The author and the twisted, messy, writhing mass of "What's this do?" that is their brain does not own any of the characters or situations in this story, or even the word "the". As such, they are not the owner of a multi-billion(?) or at the very least multi-million dollar franchise, and if they were, this would be a Deleted Scene or on Pottermore. As it is neither, it is safe to assume that the author coined as Dark Lord Duckie is neither J. K. Rowling or Warner Brothers, such as it were. DLD is also broke, so would appreciate not being sued for playing with characters.

* * *

**"Catenis est Extritio et Sperare"**

_Translation: "Chains of Misery and Hope"_

It may have been a dark night. It may even have been stormy, with the rain beating against the slick rocks, the neverending drum of the weather pounding against the walls; the surf beating against the shore again and again. It may have been a bright day. It may have been that the scorching sun pierced through the never ending gloom surrounding the tiny island, heating the stones and bars that criss-crossed the structure upon it. It may have been a blizzard, or a typhoon, or a small bunny rabbit named Gerald, but it didn't matter. None of it did.

The outside world held no comfort or sympathy for the inmates of Azkaban Prison. The scum of the Wizarding World trapped in a small 6x4 room with a bucket and rags at best. The screams of the damned and the insane echoing through the corridors, reverberating around the cell of one dank, dirty and bedraggled convict, the "mass murderer" Sirius Black.

He sat hunched over, his knees drawn to his chin, staring unseeing at the dirt floor, his throat long since gone hoarse with screaming, his voice far gone. All tears had left his eyes and dried on his face, leaving tracks that barely managed to carve a pathway through the grime on his face. It had been a decade, more or less. Ten long grueling years beating against the walls; screaming obscenities at the world; scrabbling his fingers bloody at the floor and finally collapsing in the corner, barely moving even to eat. A slowly emaciating figure that was once a laughing, joyous, happy-go-lucky well loved man.

As it always did, every day, his mind turned inwards, thinking of the friends, no... the adopted family that he had lost. He shuddered cruelly as a Dementor passed close to the cell, his spine jutting from his back scraping against the wall, aggravating the years of scars from the same movement over again. It was just another dull pain in this sentence of both iron and stone and the mire of the innocence that gave him no joy. Shaking his head minutely, his mind - trained over time to deal with the ever looming threat of Dementors hovering nearby daily - drifted back to a happier time when he was a schoolboy at Hogwarts.

* * *

The year was 1977, the Muggles were in full force in psychedelic clothing and nobody batted an eyelash at the Muggle baiting charges as the majority of those Muggles were all on some sort of substance named Cannabis anyway and all convinced they were bewitched with levitation charms.

The young man named Sirius Orion Black, formerly of the Noble House of Black, was set to continue his illustrious and informative educational career, such as it were, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that September. It was his sixth year and he had been adopted by the Potters that Summer after he had abandoned his family. He had had enough of their pureblood elitist bigotry and was eternally grateful to the Potters.

In any case, he was looking forward to spreading his influence across the school, with his close friends; garnering attention from the ladies of the Castle, chatting up any that caught his eye in return for a kiss or something more. He had quite the few notches on his wand in that regard, figuratively speaking. As soon as he made it through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross Station, he waited for James to come through as well, casting his eye over the hustle and bustle of the platform. They had arrived with plenty of time to spare for once. That is to say, it was earlier than ten to eleven. A jerked hand caught his attention out the corner of his eye, alerting him to the presence of the other two Marauders, making their way over from wherever it was their families had been waiting.

Moony looked as good as he normally did post-Transformation, which basically meant tired and bedraggled, but otherwise fine. Prongs pulled his trolley up alongside him and stared out at the crowd. Padfoot didn't even have to guess who he was searching for; they were all aware of his crush on the lovely Miss Evans. Finally the mousy haired shortest member of their group plodded over, as nervous as a Gryffindor should rarely be, he'd always been curious about that, had Padfoot. But that was just how he'd always been, had their friend Wormtail.

* * *

A Dementor passing by the cell brought Sirius viciously out of his reverie, screaming himself hoarse and thrashing, his mind trapped on the image of Wormtail, the man who had betrayed them all and got Lily and James killed. The man who he, Padfoot, had told them to trust.

"Oh Merlin, no..." he cried, speaking for the first time in weeks, "No, no, no... I'M SORRY JAMES. I'M SO SORRY!" He curled in on himself, breaking down in sobs which eventually subsided as the Dementor passed down the corrridor. Sirius' psyche enveloped him again in an effort to keep his mind from collasping.

* * *

Padfoot paced back and forth, impatient in the waiting room at the Hospital Wing. A raid had claimed the lives of several of their classmates, including injuring his date to Hogsmeade who he was mildly concerned for, but not so much as James, who had come up against the leader of the raid and been put under the Cruciatus curse. Padfoot was glad that, at least, James hadn't given in to the lure of the Dark arts, not that he thought he would. James came from a strong Light family, after all. Nor did he give the leader the satisfaction of screaming in pain, but if what the mediwitch had said, he darn near almost bit through his tongue. Padfoot was so glad he hadn't lost his adopted brother. He was so glad...

* * *

Coming back to the present, Sirius stared unseeing at the cell door, not registering anything save the knowledge that he had lost his adopted brother after all, through the fault of his own misconceptions and trust in a man that had betrayed them all. He had as good as killed them himself."I'm sorry, James... Lily. Oh Merlin, Harry, I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry..." his eyes refused to generate more tears, instead just leaving him rocking slightly as he teetered on the edge of hyperventilation.

* * *

He was pacing again, outside the door to the Maternity ward proper in St Mungo's. He had dropped everything and came as soon as James had buzzed him on his two way mirror, except the mirror, that is. He thought he could hear the piercing shrieks through what was likely a Silencing Charm, muffled such as it was, followed by an agonizing groan. While he wished to be closer for moral support, he was glad he didn't have to deal with Lily as she currently was. James would be lucky, probably, to get off with a few crushed fingers and possibly his manhood if the anecdotes from other proud new parents was anything to go by.

After what felt like hours, and probably was come to think of it, Padfoot was ushered in by a mediwitch who had caught his eye - in more ways than one. He followed a step behind the mediwitch, allowing her to lead him down the corridor, not because he didn't know where he was going, but he wanted to watch where she was going, so to speak. She stopped abruptly and turned around, blushing slightly as she caught his eyes flickering belatedly to her face. With a half smile, she opened the door, and Padfoot was distracted by an even more beautiful, tender sight.

Lily, lying in the hospital bed looking tired but content, with a little swaddled form in her arms, as James sat as close as he could without being on top of her, with one hand strangely bandaged that he wouldn't let the assisting mediwitch get close to as he stared down at his wife and newborn son. With a slight double take, he glanced up to Padfoot and beckoned him in with his bandaged hand, allowing the mediwitch to make her move and capture it for healing.

Rolling his eyes at her ministrations of his unimportant injury, he waited for Padfoot to slowly walk towards the three Potters. "Padfoot, this is Harry. Harry, this is Padfoot, he's going to be your godfather." He looked up at Padfoot, raising his eyebrows questioningly, having not actually asked him prior to the event.

"With all my heart, James. With all my heart." he whispered back, slowly reaching out to lightly carress the newborn's tuft of messy black hair. "I'll never leave you Harry." Dropping his hand back, Sirius looked around to see the mediwitches, including the one that had been working on James' hand had left the room. With a grin, he stepped back and concentrated briefly, popping into his dog form a moment later and curling up in the seat next to the bed, keeping an eye on his new pup, though not of his blood, he was as good as.

* * *

Sirius' eyes jerked open suddenly, his surroundings looking pale and washed out as a semblance of a smile played on his mouth. Harry. He was still alive. He promised never to leave him, but he had. He was going to live up to his promise to his pup, Sirius vowed to himself, scratching at his ear with his ... paw? Sirius leapt up on all fours, startled. This was new. He could change into Snuffles at will, but had never attempted it before in Azkaban. Turning around in circles, ignoring the flopping, enticing tail that taunted him, he slowly came to a stop, staring at the door to the cell, smelling decay and death glide by. There was no coldness. No depression. There was just ... dog joy. The Dementors didn't affect him in this form.

If dogs could cry, he'd be crying tears of hope and joy. But for now, he lay down to gather his strength. He expected that the auror guards would be by soon with the day's meal, and he didn't want to be caught dogging the system.

* * *

Cornelius Fudge had just left a few hours ago after his semi-annually inspection of the structure and grounds of Azkaban Prison. Sirius had managed to acquire the Daily Prophet to both mess with the politician and see what was going on in the Wizarding World when he saw it; both the Weasley family who's youngest few were friends with Harry Potter and the rat, perched on the young boy's shoulder - Pettigrew... no. The boy he knew was dead, his friend was dead. He was only the rat now. He was only Wormtail. No longer an honorific, but a curse.

"Hogwarts... he's at Hogwarts." snarled Sirius, slipping into a rage at the rat being free, being so close to the boy he had helped to orphan. Sirius screamed at the injustice of it all and barely managed to shift into dog form before collapsing.

_Soon_. He thought,_ Soon..._

* * *

"We interrupt this scheduled broadcast to announce that notorious mass murderer Sirius Black has escaped from prison, he is armed, dangerous and may be carrying a gun. We urge you to remain calm, to stay safe, and to call the authorities if you see him." The Television flickered and changed back to the waterskiing hamster. The giant black dog, tongue lolling from it's mouth, whined lowly and bounded away from the front of the hardware store. He had a mission, and a boy to save, to protect, he had to get to Hogwarts.

But first... he had to see that Harry was safe...


	2. Furorem Parum Forsit

**"Furorem parum forsit"**

_Translation:_ "Furry little problem"

It was still early morning, the sky slowly lightening as the moon hung suspended in the sky, being pulled slowly towards the horizon as if by magic. Small noises started to seep in through the space under the door. Tthe whistles of birds flitting back and forth of a morning or of the buzzing of bees circling their hive far up in the treetops. Perhaps it were also the rustling of undergrowth as a small bunny rabbit hopped along the ground, unknowing that if the heavy wooden door of the cabin had not held the previous night, it would have become a tasty if stringy morsel for the creature that was locked up within.

The scent of the rabbit sifted through the air, gliding under the doorway and taunting the creature in the middle of the destroyed room. Everything from shelves to chairs, from the bedspread to the curtains, to even the firewood was reduced to kindling and shredded linen. Deep gouges marred the walls and floor, scored through the hard wood with all the force that a large, angry, trapped beast could muster. The ruts slick with the sticky red ichor still dripping from the muzzle of the beast as in it's rage it turned on itself. Snarling, biting, lost in the violence and rage that tainted it's mind and body.

But it's soul and heart was it's own, locked inside the prison of the lycanthropy curse that arose unwanted and enveloped the young man inside every full moon, every month, every year, without fail. He did not even recall a time when it didn't happen. Then again, in this state, it was difficult to recall anything at all. His mind so tainted by the curse that the animal took over, snarling inside the prison of his skull itself, so the human host retreated into his heart and soul, hoping that the curse wouldn't spread out further and create another horror like the beast that had sired him; Fenrir Greyback.

This was his 100th change since his friends had abandoned him, be it through embracing the Darkness within, getting themselves blown up or becoming little more than a finger on the street. Bitterness, like the bile that rose in his throat every time he tasted the iron infused ochre substance in his mouth. Whether it was his own or that of some poor creature that entered into his domain... it mattered little. He internally wept for each death, each bite, snarl and clawed swipe that stole away another small part of his humanity to the lycanthropic abyss.

The man trapped inside the aching, monstrous form was one Remus John Lupin, known to his friends as Moony, at least before they all left his life. A small thing, abandonment issues were, a small change with huge consequences. Instead of the comforting presence of his friends to keep him company and sane - in a sense - during the transformation, he sunk deeper into the clutches of the wolf side.

To his left, would have been the strong muscular physique of the stag, it's rack of antlers capable of pinning even the powerful lean wolf if he had got out of control or caught the whiff of a human. On the other side of the room, in the corner atop the highest shelf, he could imagine a small rat curled up out of range, a watching eye for signs of distress or trouble, able to see out the windows on either side. The rat's positioning proving to be little more than a troublesome effort if the wolf got peckish.

Though it pained him to recall the traitor that had stabbed them all in the back, betraying his friends to their deaths at the hands of the Darkness; he could even see in his mind's eye the huge black Grim-like dog that would be curled up nearby. His head on his paws, keeping a watchful eye on the werewolf, tongue lolling about and panting rapidly as canines were liable to do. The shaggy black form was stronger than it seemed, even more so than the large form insinuated.

Remus knew this because Padfoot had taken him down more than once, for which he was eternally grateful, even though those memories were tainted with the knowledge that he had embraced the Dark Arts that he had spent all of his life cutting away ties to, like his family. It didn't make any sense. But then betrayal and heartbreak wasn't supposed to. He had lost a lot that day. Brothers in James and Sirius; a sister in Lily and even a friend in Pettigrew. He had lost the Marauders. They had shattered on that Halloween night those long months ago.

A jolt of pain brought him out of his reverie; with a glance through the eyes still yet controlled by the wolf, Remus spotted the lightening of the surrounding sky outside the reinforced iron barred windows. The night was almost over.

Almost.

Another jolt ran through his body like a bolt of lightning, lifting and spasming his back until the wolf stood up on his hind legs, howling in pain and rage at the world that had cursed it so. Stabbing white hot knives scored hits again and again along his spine, the invertebrae shifting fiercly as they remodelled his hackles painfully. Remus screamed inside, an unearthly harmony with the howling wolf as the paws slowly shifted to feet and hands. Clutching and scrabbling at the floor and walls, the splintered wood digging into skin - just another small annoyance on top of the already agonizing procedure at hand. The howl cut off abruptly and was replaced by hoarse shrieks as the protruding wolfish snout gave way to a human mouth, teeth and tongue.

Falling to his knees in the wreckage of the room, head bent and heaving the bile from the night before onto the ground, Remus looked over his shoulder, ignoring the aches in his joints that protested the movement as he checked to make sure that he was all in one piece and human again. He watched dispassionately with naught but a wince as his tailbone shrunk back into a semblance of normality, such as it was for a wizard. With a whoosh of escaping air, the man formerly known as Moony fell sideways onto the floor where he had lain earlier as a monster and wept for all that he had lost, and the life that he now knew.


	3. Arcanorum et Dolus

**"Arcanorum et Dolus"**

_Translation:_ "Secrets and Deceit"

A small squeak echoed in the room, it's sole non-bespectacled resident perched on the window sill, looking out at the grounds. Light sleeper though he was due to living with his prank-happy brothers, he had gradually become desensitized to the squeaks and scrabbling of his pet rat Scabbers. The rat in question stared balefully out the window at the grounds surrounding the delapidated and haphazardly thrown together "house" that was affectionately, as far as Scabbers could tell, called 'The Burrow'.

Scabbers brushed his whiskers across the cold glass, staring down at the rustling bushes that housed the pesky gnomes and other garden varieties of pests. In his youth, he would torment them like every other magical child. Now they tormented him, as they were roughly the same size, the blasted potatoes with legs. With a ratlike sigh, he glanced over his shoulder - or what passed for one - at the blanketed form across the room. After several moments of making sure the young squatchling was asleep, he slipped down through the bookshelves, scrabbling along the books and trinkets to the floorboards.

The rat tentatively found himself hopping and slinking his way across the floor avoiding the loose floorboards that would be akin to signaling an imminent ambush to any prank target for miles around. Which in this household was everybody - including himself. Reaching the door, he took a sharp left turn behind a bookshelf and out through a hole in the wall. Thank Merlin he didn't have to create this one himself. It was difficult enough as is to skirt the anti-vermin wards on the house. He was honestly surprised that they could afford to pay for such a ward. Well, had it not been for that curse-breaker son of theirs.

Scabbers shook himself and looked up and down the landing. Across the way was the twins room, but the rat could hear nothing but low breathing from inside. Below was the daughter's room, Jenny or Joan or something Wizardish - Peter was a fine half-blood name after all, none of this weird outlandish nonsense. Above the landing was everyone else in the house, but he had no need to go up there during this foray, at least not right now. This sleuthing business was hard work.

Almost hugging the wall, Wormtail as he referred to himself outside the tender love and care of the Weasley child, skittered down the stairs, barely avoiding injury on the splinters that rose like towering spikes to his beady watery eyes. The nails jutting out dangerously as he hurtled down the stairs, that gravitee thing he had heard mudbloods speaking of back in the days of Hogwarts pulling him faster and faster as he leapt to avoid wood and metal impalings alike.

It would not do to have his undercover (and frankly nauseating) mission to gather intel from the Blood Traitors - concerning the goings on of the Wizarding World - to come to a sudden and bloody end. The lack of finger was uncomfortable enough, as it happened. But it was a lot better than the alternative, Wormtail thought, no Dementors or bloody death, and the Order of Merlin was pretty classy too.

Dropping the last few steps to the ground, Wormtail paused, listening for the faint echoes of fat rat meets linoleum to stop reverberating off the walls. After a moment, he scrabbled his way into the kitchen, expertly clawing his way up a haphazardly thrown jumper and onto the tabletop. There he found the previous days' Daily Prophet, where it always lay every evening when the Weasley patriach would read it before traipsing upstairs to bed.

Wormtail carefully slid a paw over the parchment, sliding it back from it's folded position until it was stretched out and fully readable. Zeroing in on the sports section - which Wormtail had always hated - he did the classic rat on paper move and soiled the area. This was a precaution for if he got caught, also the blasted Weasley child that took care of him didn't particularly know what he was doing concerning the rodent body that Wormtail inhabited.

In any case, the International leaflet inside the Daily Prophet announced another few rumours of dark happenings in Wizarding communities around the world. It had been only a handful of years since the incident involving the Dark Lord's downfall to the accursed Potter boy, but Wormtail kept an eye out for his Master's accomplishments, whersoever they occured. Albania, ostensibly, had a few missing persons in the area, which Wormtail felt was something important to mull over. Judging by the foray raids into Europe when he was a Death Eater, they had been searching for something on the Dark Lord's ord-

A creaking staircase and shuffle alerted Wormtail to an approaching individual. Barely repressing a squeak of surprise, he leapt across the slippery varnished table and dropped to the floor a moment later, his landing muffled by the oncoming footsteps, barely. The shadowy figure entered the kitchen, the crescent moonlit night bathing their shadowy appearance in a pale brilliance, sending their features into stark comparison with the surrounding gloom.

From behind a table leg, Wormtail could see the lanky outline and freckled countenance of the young Weasley daughter Ginevra, who crossed to the door and opened it silently with practiced ease, reaching for the sideboard nearest the door for a keychain. Curiously, Wormtail skittered across the floor to watch the Weasley girl silently walk to the broom shed, and let herself in. Moments later, she exited clutching one of the family's brooms.

With an un-ratlike nod, Wormtail understood what was happening, but with no wish to be caught in the act of gathering information, he about faced and began the slow journey up the stairs to his resting place inside the bespectacled ignorant owner's room that deigned to keep he, a loyal Death Eater a captive. Though he may have been delusional, Wormtail vowed that one day he would recieve recompense for his purported imagined slights.

Even a traitorous rat needs to have it's dreams...


	4. De Leones Jactare

**"De Leones Jactare"**

_Translation:_ "The Lion's Pride"

The world was whitewashed and shaky. It was like a pounding hangover without the submissive pain. It was freedom within the crevice of time. It was a prison of light. It was a floating sensation in the inky blackness of the unknown. Closing his eyes with minimal effort, the figure thought back to the incident that led to this state of being.

* * *

A warbling siren, the proximity ward announcing the arrival (and subsequent collapse of several wards) of the Dark Lord. One of the inhabitants leapt to his feet, casting an alarmed glance at his wife in the room, drinking in her image as he knew it would likely be the last time he saw her. Shaking his head to remove those depressing and distracting thoughts, he drew his wand and strode across the room to embrace her as the klaxon continued to blare around them.

"I love you, Lils." he murmered, kissing her tenderly, "and I'm sorry for everything... and this." Pushing back from her, he pointed up the stairs "Take Harry and go, I'll hold him off." The flash of understanding in her eyes pained him to his core, but he had to give time for the two most important and beloved people in his life to escape.

"Merlin Peter, what have you done?" he murmured, moving behind the frame of the hallway's threshold, watching the front door, his wand gripped firmly in his hand in preparation. "Moony, I'm so sorry we thought you were the spy. I'm so sorry." The klaxon cut off suddenly with something akin to a shriek. Wetting his dry lips subconsciously, James whispered lowly as footsteps sounded slowly outside his door. "I'll miss you, Padfoot, most of all."

With a resounding crack, the door split in two and was blasted inwards in a shower of splinters, that had anyone been standing directly behind it, they would have been impaled by the spikes and debris that flew down the hallway. Without even giving the dust a chance to clear, James flicked his wand silently at the hole where the door used to be and threw a bludgeoning curse.

The spell petered out on a bright shield that leapt into being with a low hum around the tall ominous figure that stalked into the house uninvited. The Dark Lord threw back a jet black spell causing James to dive sideways into the living room to avoid, the heat from the energy of the magic searing by to begin an inferno in the kitchen.

James rolled to his feet using his auror training and without pausing to recover from his landing, he swished his wand back and forth in a spell chain. Dodging left and right as he cast piercing, blasting and bombardment curses at the Dark Lord. Diving behind the couch, he schooled his features, repressing the rising panic that he was not going to defy the Dark Lord a fourth time.

"Come out, little Potter... you cannot defeat me. I am the DARK LORD VOLDEMORT! I will find you, and I will make you watch as I murder your family, piece by piece." The sickly sweet yet hardened and deadly voice carressed the inside of the Potter patriach's ear like barbed wire being drawn across tender salted flesh.

With an inarticulate roar of rage, James stood up and fired curse after curse at the Dark Lord, not bothering to dodge as he stood his ground, Dark spells ripping through him and making his eyes go bleary in pain. He fought to keep his balance, standing tall, knowing that death was coming as his wand was ripped from his grasp, blood splattering and dripping over the walls, floor and couch.

Wheezing loudly from his battered form, James could taste iron and bile welling in his mouth.  
"Harry... will stop you." he uttered, blood flecking his lips as he stared down the red eyes looming out of the dark smoke that roiled from the kitchen.

"Kneel, and you will be granted mercy." whispered the Dark Lord. "Kneel before your Lord and Master."

"By Godric, I WILL NOT!" howled James and threw himself at his attacker with his last ounce of energy as a familiar green glow connected and blasted him across the room into the spell damaged bookcase. He was dead long before the displaced books began to bury his corpse.

* * *

He had been watching his last moments over and over, waiting for some change in the surrounding rippling landscape. Something brushed his hand. It took a wit and an age to turn his as of yet motionless head to even glimpse the figure next to him. His heart broke and reformed as he stared into the once green eyes of his love, Lily. Words were not needed as they stared at each other in the balance of Darkness and Light.

Together in life and in death, they wept for their son as the last moments of each of their lives faded away and was replaced with the grueling journey that Harry James Potter would face. It wasn't all bad, they shared the good times and the painful, feeling pride at the second meeting of Voldemort and Harry or the bars on Harry's window. They watched amusedly as Gilderoy Lockhart who they had both known in school get blasted by a faulty wand, and gripped with a ghostly fear as the Basilisk fought and lost to their son.

James was torn when Harry stopped the last true Marauders from executing Pettigrew, he knew that he wouldn't have wanted them to become killers, but Peter - the boy they had known and befriended - had died the moment he had taken the Mark. Only the rat Wormtail remained, and it wasn't illegal to squash out vermin. But he was glad that Harry and his friends weren't party to a Thestral inducing experience at such a young age.

During the Third Task, James felt a strange sensation as Lily jolted away from him, as if there was something yanking her away from him. Reaching back silently, their eyes wide and afraid of this new unknown aspect of the inky darkness they found themselves in, they were helpless as Lily was pulled away towards a shining ethereal doorway. Just before she entered, he felt himself jerk and shift with the same motion that she had, and knew that wherever she was going, he was sure to follow.

* * *

"Hello son." James choked up, seeing his son up close for the first time in over thirteen years. "We're so proud of you. But we can't stay long, just a few moments after the connection is broken. We can help you escape, again. Get back to the portkey, warn everyone. I love you, we both love you." He wished he could hold Harry in his arms again, but knew that as he could barely touch Lily here, that wouldn't work out at all. He vaguely registered the young Hufflepuff requesting Harry deliver his body to his own parents.

Readying himself, James whispered to Harry "On our signal... NOW!" He watched as proudly as a father could be, as Harry jerked up the wand and turned to run as best he could in the opposite direction towards the gilded trophy in the distance as the gold dome collapsed. James and the other spirits swarmed the astonished and enraged Dark Lord "OUT OF MY WAY!" cried the inhuman snakelike creature, swiping violently through the ghostly figures. James exploded with rage his last epitaph "By Godric, I WILL NOT!" as the ghostly echoes collided with the reborn evil form.

* * *

James opened his eyes gingerly, or what passed for eyes in the milky blotted out expanse that passed for a world since his death. Lily's hand was in his again, as he focused on the scrying bowl in front of him, watching his son's fifth year. It had taken a while in this seemingly timeless expanse to recover from their echoes being imprinted on the world in the Graveyard. But they were happy to do it, and so proud.

Harry's fifth year passed by quickly with equal amounts of fear, joy and horror - as the Blood Quill was a legal tool used in signing contracts and was thus illegal to use on both a minor and in any instance that was superfluous such as writing lines - it was common knowledge amongst Purebloods, of which Delores Umbridge was not. But that was no excuse for the Ministry's sycophant.

A confusing flurry of action and despair happened in a short space of time, leaving Lily and James blinking in shock at what happened, until a hand clapped on James' shoulder, spinning him around nauseously in the swirling smoky gloom to see a ghostly form of Padfoot staring at him with a hint of a smile on his face that slowly broke into a grin as his eyes brimmed with tears.

"I'm so sorry, James." he whispered in the darkness, the first sound that had echoed that didn't come from the scrying that detailed his son's adventures. James battered the hand off his shoulder and embraced his adopted brother, forgoing the manly attitude that one should ostensibly have when hugging another man; social parameters be damned.

"Men," whispered Lily, wrapping her arms around the two, "so emotionally stunted."

* * *

Sixth and what would be seventh year passed as the three hovered over the bowl, watching as Harry battled the forces of evil, the uknown and the mystery surrounding his own destiny. They cheered for every horcrux he destroyed, catcalled when he kissed the Weasley girl, and clutched each other in fear as he went toe to toe with his attackers and oppressors.

Surprising even themselves, they were saddened at the death of Wormtail, despite all he had done, he had still been their friend in the formative years. They caught a glimpse of him entering what Lily had deduced was likely the Wizarding form of Purgatory - as they had not seen anyone but magical beings in the milky expanse - but he did not stay long and moved off into the distance away from them.

Hoping to never have to feel the same emptiness inside as they watched Remus and Tonks pass on into their next Great Adventure and join them at the scrying bowl, the last true Marauders felt a shiver pass all over them as Harry died and revived moments later, too old to be the Boy Who Lived, he fought Voldemort alongside the Longbottom's boy and the residents of Hogwarts, finally ending the Dark Lord's reign of terror and becoming the Man Who Won.

A shudder rippled through the whiteness and a shimmering gold gateway materialized beyond the scrying bowl as it dried up and cracked, no longer useful or needed. The golden filigree spiraled up the marble columns, dancing along the metal frame and spelling out AVALON, the final resting place for magical souls.

The Marauders, Tonks and Lily straightened their backs and strode through the gateway side by side, all equal and all at rest.

All was well, and everything had been resolved.


End file.
